


like i'm some kind of cheese

by Granspn



Series: queen in 3d [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Some Tragedy, Some comedy, mostly comedy i mean come on have you met me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: this is a short one about sweet lady because it's a meme but it also makes me kind of sad. so this snapshot is a little scene from the boys' time writing and recording a night at the opera at rockfield farm!





	like i'm some kind of cheese

As always, Freddie was the last to breakfast. Actually, breakfast was a strong word for it, considering it was already well into the noon hour at Rockfield Farm, but if it’s the first meal you’re eating that day, what the hell are you going to call it, lunch? John had already been up for hours, but all he’d treated himself to were a couple mugs of tea and a long morning of fleshing out bass lines. Brian had been out on the lawn, sprawled in the grass with a pen and paper and the 12-string trying to make sense of this time travel number he’d been working on for a while when he spotted John making his way to the kitchen to finally eat and figured he could use some company. Roger was already there, behind the counter, simultaneously grilling strips of bacon and John about the ins and outs of his latest song. 

“I don’t want that fucking line!” Roger exclaimed to an unperturbed Deaky. “We’re supposed to be a rock and roll group, not that you’d know!”

“It’s just supposed to be a sweet song, Rog, about being in love. Not that you’d know,” John answered, ducking behind him to start making his own breakfast. Brian browsed the fruit bowl before perching himself on a kitchen barstool. 

“Well, I’m not singing it,” Roger said, “see how fucking far it gets without any upper harmonies and then we’ll talk.”

“You do realize Freddie exists, right?” Brian said through a mouthful of apple. “He can sing your parts. On the record, anyway.” 

“Fuck off or I won’t sing on your songs either, space cadet.” Brian rolled his eyes and decided not to egg him on further, instead trying to find a newspaper or at least a magazine in all the clutter they left around.

“My ears are burning!” Came a voice from the staircase. Freddie emerged wearing a silky dressing gown, his hair still fluffy and straight from the night before. 

“Morning, Fred,” Brian said. 

John checked his watch. “Afternoon, actually.”

“Good afternoon, then,” Freddie said. “What are we eating?” He peered over Brian’s shoulder at the stovetop. 

“Just the Deaky Special,” Brian said.

“What’s that?” Freddie asked.

“He makes a cheese on toast and then doesn’t do the dishes,” Brian answered.

“Glad to know we can always trust John to live deliciously.”

“Hey, I–“ but the phone rang before John could defend himself. Instead, he picked it up and answered, “Buckingham Palace, you’ve reached her royal majesty.” After listening for a few seconds, he covered the receiver and spoke to the guys again, “It’s for you, Brian. Chrissie.”

“Oh, shit,” Brian said, a fair amount of color draining from his face, “Tell her I’ll be a moment. Let me take this upstairs. Don’t want to ruin your breakfast.” 

“He’ll be a moment, Chrissie. He’s just sending his concubines home and donning his chainmail,” John deadpanned as Roger elbowed him in the side, his eyes on Brian as he slinked up the stairs. 

John just happened to leave the kitchen landline upturned on the counter. However, he, Roger, and Freddie were definitely not eavesdropping on the animated fight going on upstairs. It wasn’t their fault they could hear everything Chrissie was saying through the magic of Alexander Graham Bell’s innovation.

“Well fuck you, Brian May!” Screeched through the phone. His wounded reply (“Sweetheart, please–“) was muffled by a layer of hardwood flooring.

“Don’t call me sweet! I absolutely hate it when you call me that!” And the line went dead. Something crashed to the floor of the room upstairs, then they heard the characteristic shuffling of Brian immediately cleaning up whatever mess he’d made, and then came the sound of him bounding back down to join them.

“Fucking put it back!” Roger whisper-yelped, leaping across the kitchen to shove the phone back into the receiver, then leaning casually on the countertop trying to look like he hadn’t just been panicking. 

“You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Brian asked sheepishly upon seeing the others’ guilty expressions. 

“What are you talking about!” Roger said, while Freddie and John admitted, “Every word.”

“Ugh,” Brian said, flopping unceremoniously back down on his stool, more upset about the conversation he’d just had than his friends listening in. “Marriage is fucking hard.” 

Freddie tried his best to look sympathetic while he was sliding a pad of paper and a pencil across the counter toward Brian. 

“I’m sure it is, darling. Have you tried writing about it?” 

“I’m a bit worried about what’ll come out. And then she’ll listen to it and know it’s about her and I’ll never hear the end of it, I’m sure.”

“Then don’t make the _words_ about her, just the _feelings_ ,” Freddie explained. 

“Exactly,” Roger said, “Just the feelings. So you can take out that bloody ‘happy at home’ line, John, end of.”

“Shut up, Rog. I think Freddie’s about to make a breakthrough,” John said softly, watching his other two friends like they were characters in a film. 

“You know ‘Love of my Life,’” Freddie said, fidgeting with the pencil he’d slid to Brian moments ago, “It’s not as if I necessarily think those things exactly. It’s just about evoking the feelings you’re feeling, and putting them to music. Fuck anyone who doesn’t understand that you’ve got to take a little bit of poetic license.” 

“Yeah, except I actually intend to stay with Chrissie,” Brian said without thinking. John choked on his bite of toast.

“Excuse me?” Freddie said. 

“Um, I didn’t mean that. I just meant, um, God. I don’t know what I meant.” 

“Of course I intend to stay with Mary.” 

“Of course,” John echoed. Roger elbowed him again. 

“Don’t be a fucking dickhead,” Roger told him. 

“No, of course you do, Fred, I just meant, um, I don’t know,” Brian scanned the room for something to help him improvise, his brow finally un-furrowing as he settled on, “Maybe I should be taking tips from Deaky instead. He seems to have this whole wife and kids thing under control.” 

John did his best to look unassuming while Roger grabbed the cheesy toast slice out of his hand and took a large bite. 

“Don’t know how much love advice I’d take from Mr. ‘Misfire,’ Bri,” Roger said with his mouth full of Deaky’s breakfast. 

“That’s Mr. ‘You’re My Best Friend,’ to you,” John said, grabbing his toast back and pointedly taking a bite, “And I think if you’re having trouble, you should just talk to her.” 

“Yes, that’s what I figured, except every time we try and talk, that’s what happens,” Brian said, gesturing to the phone.

“Oh, right.”

“And then I just get shit for whatever I say when I do call her! Oh, you call me up just to feed me all your lies, you call me sweet like I’m just around for you to fucking eat me up but I’m a person, you know, like I don’t know that of course she’s a fucking person. God! I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Never have. Life was so much easier when all I had to worry about was my guitar and a fucking telescope. Now I’m in a rock band but I’m still having _girl trouble_ like I’m eighteen.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is a bit pathetic when you put it that way,” Freddie said witheringly as he struggled to get the kettle to boil. 

“Okay, that’s quite enough out of you, Galileo,” Roger said, taking over the tea operation from his hapless bandmate. A few years ago he may not have been able to boil an egg but these days at least he could make his own cuppa. 

“Oh, please, I’m only joking,” Freddie said, leaning over the counter and springing one of Brian’s curls, “I think it’s sweet that it bothers you so much what she thinks.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“What?”

“Sweet. She hates when I call her that,” Brian explained. 

“What a shame,” Freddie said.

“And she was so sweet when I met her. Wish she’d just stay sweet.”

“Well, maybe one day that won’t be what you want," John suggested, "and you can love her for who she is."

“Yes, maybe,” Brian said, sounding pessimistic. “How do you make it work?”

“Hm,” John said, thinking about it for a minute, “Hard work, same as you, I suppose. For some reason we get into fewer screaming matches.” Which actually managed to make Brian smile.

“Can’t imagine why,” Roger said, “Deaky’s so talkative. Why, nearly every article about us discusses at length how loud and obnoxious he is.” 

“They must have been confusing him for me!” Freddie said, planting a wet kiss on John’s cheek as he plucked the last bite of toast out of his hand. Before John could protest, the phone rang again. This time Brian picked up. 

“Rockfield. This is Brian.” He listened to the other end. “It’s for you, John. It’s your best friend.”

“But I’m right here!” protested Roger.

“Ha ha,” Deaky said, “Tell Ronnie I’ll take it upstairs. Wouldn’t want to ruin your breakfast.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> eyyy at the time of publishing this i have exactly 39 messages in my inbox
> 
> but hey dont let that discourage you from commenting! i love hearing your guys' feedback, so please let me know what you think!


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